


Dating for Dummies (or don't look at my browser history)

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adorkable, Dating, F/M, Fluff, Romance, fluffy fluff, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor feels, maybe, perhaps, he could give dating a try. As always, he manages to over complicate things. </p><p>Pure fluff, absolutely nothing bad happens. The kitten features. There is snuggling and even kissing. Should just be two chapters - aim to finish tomorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Dating doesn’t have to be nerve wracking.”

One sentence in and he was already arguing with the computer, his hands were sweating, he kept glancing nervously over his shoulder, just in case Clara was standing behind him. He could do this. He was over 2000 years old, he’d been married, he’d been engaged, OK, sometimes, he wasn’t entirely sure how those things happened (there was a hazy memory involving cocoa), but, they had, somehow....this shouldn’t be that hard. He took off his hoodie and flung it in the direction of a chair, the kitten mewed piteously. The Doctor rolled his eyes, drama kitten. He walked over and lifted the hoodie off the feline. The kitten may have hissed and then focused on rearranging his fur.

The Doctor returned to the console.

“You must do some up-front soul searching to make sure you’re ready to be honest, open and attentive.”

He wondered if he could skip that bit, maybe come back to it later, or just ignore it? He climbed on top of the TARDIS and assumed his meditative pose, he contemplated for at least 17.3 seconds when the kitten made an unsuccessful flying leap and he found himself hanging upside down, clutching a hissing, spitting bundle of fury round the middle. He tried explaining to Aurelius that he had saved him from certain death, and that nine lives really wasn’t a thing, unless he was a Time Cat. Aurelius contented himself with sinking his exceedingly sharp teeth into the Doctor’s thumb. The Doctor focused on returning Aurelius to a chair inside the TARDIS without flinging him into space or screaming like a girl (he reminded himself never even to think that phrase around Clara). He stuck a Spongebob plaster on his thumb, after scanning it and immersing it in antiseptic, whilst glaring at Aurelius. Aurelius was entirely indifferent to the power of the Doctor’s attack eyebrows. After repeating the attempt to meditate a number of times, and repeating the rescue of Aurelius and applying a succession of plasters, he abandoned his attempt at meditation. He re-read the article, it made no mention of what to do in the face of obstreperous kittens. 

Aurelius rubbed round his ankles, he was almost certain that Clara had fed him, he was almost sure it had been recently, he was also aware that his grasp of what constituted recently might be tenuous at best. Probably best not to chance it. He put down a tin of tuna and a saucer of cream. Aurelius tripped the Doctor, the Doctor opened the tine of tuna, applied a plaster to his nose. Added “plasters” to the section of chalkboard that acted as a shopping list. He said nothing. He avoided eye contact. He refused to accept that in a battle of skills with a very small kitten, he was currently losing.

He knew he should have been firmer, he had told Clara, quite definitely, no pets. She had countered that he couldn’t dictate the rules for her flat, that of course was entirely valid. He had been emphatic, no pets in the TARDIS. Clara had said, Aurelius was tiny, she couldn’t just leave him when they went on an adventure, she would keep him at home the rest of the time, she had smiled, she had done that thing with her eyes. The Doctor caved, he always caved. He made a note never to play Clara at poker. Could he maybe watch Aurelius whilst she was at work? He would be lonely, he would be bored, he was only tiny – for a moment, the Doctor had thought Clara was talking about him. The Doctor wasn’t entirely convinced that Aurelius ever went home. He had chosen to travel with Clara, not a bag of fleas (don’t think that near Clara either).

Right, really, focus. 

“Asking for a first date can be intimidating, but if the response is no, its not the end of the world.”

Pudding brains! Utter drivel! Who wrote this rubbish? Of course it would be the end of the world, well, OK, not literally, but it might as well be. If he ever managed to ask Clara, his plans did not include her saying “no”. He kept reading. Aurelius landed on the keyboard. Both his hearts momentarily stopped and he contemplated spontaneous regeneration. He thought Aurelius had just emailed Clara his entire browser history. No, he’d just sent it to Kate, that was fine then. He banged his head repeatedly against the console. He contemplated beating Aurelius’ head against the console (no, that would be bad, Clara had made that explicit on one of those prompt card thingies). Kate emailed him “lol”. He spent an astonishing quantity of time trying to establish which alien life form this was , what threat they posed, and what Kate expected him to do. Eventually, he was compelled to ask for clarification, he still didn’t understand, he regretted phoning Kate, he was almost certain she was laughing so hard that she was crying. It seemed poor compensation for the number of times she had butt dialled him.

Just as he read as far as the surprisingly informative advice that he should suggest a Wednesday/Thursday night for a first date – honestly, when did they think he saw Clara? Clara arrived and he hastily ensured that the monitors showed star charts. He double checked that the hadn’t inadvertently merely minimised the window, she was still teasing him about watching cute animal videos. He hastily deleted his entire browser history, and attempted to look insouciant. He had forgotten about the plasters. Clara stared and giggled. She sat on the steps and wrapped her arms round her sides. After 10 minutes she was still laughing too hard to form coherent sentences. The Doctor attempted to look utterly indignant. His attempts to protest that the furry, ninja hoodlum aka “NO”, aka, Aurelius was responsible for inflicting grievous bodily harm upon him, met not with consolation, not with sympathy, but with further gales of laughter.

He stomped off, curling himself into an angry ball, with a book, on the library sofa. Once Clara composed herself, she followed him, removed the plasters and kissed the site of his injuries, of course there wasn’t a trace of the agony that had been inflicted upon him (superior Time Lord physiology) but the kisses were infinitely better than the laughing and kept his flailing to the absolute, barest, minimum. Clara wriggled and wiggled in behind him, wrapping her arms round him and then had the audacity to enquire as to where they were going? He was tempted to protest that his day had been entirely adventurous enough (best not mention Aurelius’ near death experiences), he knew she would continue to tease him if he said anything. He put his book down, and turned round with difficulty within her embrace, attempting to remember the rule about being attentive and asked her, offered, to take her anywhere she would like to go. She requested a space restaurant. He started the same argument they had, had before. That wasn’t a thing. She countered with space pirates. He harrumphed. She poked him in the chest. Was he or wasn’t he, going to take her to eat? She was hungry, she wasn’t going to cook and she despaired of him producing a meal that wasn’t wholly composed of biscuits and chocolate (although, on certain days, that was an entirely balanced and nutritious meal). He suggested Chinese, they both liked Chinese. Clara suggested China, he offered street food in Hong Kong – that should constitute dinner and an adventure. 

Had Hong Kong been on her list of 101 places to see? He couldn’t remember, he’d taken her to countless places, but had she wanted to see them? He needed to make the choice hers more often even if they did seem to involve and inordinate amount of beaches and sunsets. She invariably found some way to link arms with him, hold his hand or lean against him – he wondered if she should investigate her seeming tiredness? He still wasn’t going to agree to a spa day – he remembered when he’d taken Donna to one. Strictly speaking, what had happened had, had nothing to do with the spa, but it was the principle of the thing. He could think of nothing more terrifying, horrifying than spending a day wrapped in fluffy towels, having stones, mud and vegetables applied to him. Hands would touch him, there would be hours of lying still, doing nothing, he could possibly die of boredom. He could, on reflection, possibly be over reacting – just a teensy amount, maybe. Davros and Missy were, perhaps, worse. Clara wrapped in just fluffy towels he realised was something that wasn’t entirely unpleasant and something that he was now actively considering in some detail. 

Clara poked him, he may not have spoken for some minutes, his reverie had been quite engrossing and he might just, slightly, have forgotten entirely what they had been talking about. Aurelius using his leg as a scratching post helped him focus. He managed, with considerable effort, not to kick Aurelius into the library shelves, he also managed to keep his expression entirely neutral as he untangled, as he prised the kitten’s razor sharp claws from his flesh. He didn’t roll up the leg of his trousers to contemplate the rivulets of blood that were doubtless pouring down his limb. He resisted scanning himself, although he knew a pernicious infection, which would doubtless result in gangrene, had obviously already set in.

“So, are we going then?”


	2. Dai Pai Dong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy ending *nods emphatically* - I may write more angsty stuff, but as far as I'm concerned this is 12 and Clara's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone from Hong Kong, I lifted the food from a website, so it could be wildly inaccurate....sorry.
> 
> The dating advice is from Dating for Dummies - go on, google if you don't believe me....

“Come on then!”

The Doctor attempted to leap up from the sofa, forgetting he was wrapped in Clara’s arms, he narrowly avoided landing on his nose, again. Clara valiantly attempted to stifle her laughter. The Doctor turned, extended his hand to Clara and pulled her upright. She hugged him again, he sighed, it was a happy sigh. 

“If we’re going, you need to let go. The hugging, it severely limits walking.”

She swatted at him, but she could see he was smiling, even his eyes were twinkling.

They made it out the TARDIS doors, into the noise, the lights, the hustle and bustle.

“Right place, right time. I’m impressed!”

With that, Clara disappeared back into the TARDIS.

“Just feeding Aurelius.”

She returned wearing a woolly hat, scarf and gloves.

“Why didn’t you tell me that it would be this cold?”

“It’s not! Ok, just possibly, it might be the tail edge of a north easterly monsoon.”

He digressed at length about the climate, finally being distracted when Clara wrapped a scarf round him and stood on tip toe to kiss him on the nose. He was momentarily aware that Clara’s lips were gloriously warm. He didn’t sigh when she pulled back, put her arm through his and attempted to drag him onwards with the proclamation, “Hungry!”

He remained rooted to the spot. He looked down at the scarf, and raised an eyebrow.

“Early Christmas present, now, come on!”

“Its November!”

“Time travel, it can be Christmas if I say so.”

“Yes boss.”

He allowed himself to be dragged wherever Clara wanted him. Everywhere stalls clamoured for their attention, crowds surged round them. Some of the smells were tantalising, some stung his nose and threatened to make his eyes water. 

“I want everything!”

“I don’t doubt your enthusiasm, dedication or ability...”

“Are you suggesting I eat a lot?”

There was no safe reply, yes there was.

“No! Of course not. I was merely going to suggest that we can come back, as often as you want. So you don’t need to try everything today.”

“You always say that. How often do we go back?”

The Doctor decided not to mention how much time he spent in London, specifically in her flat. Street hawkers stretched into the distance. Everything seemed to be vying for their attention. Squid tentacles, astonishingly orange, glistening with sauce, curled round the sticks they were skewered on....no, don’t go there, don’t think that. He carefully steered Clara away from food that was distinctly like someone they knew. Strictly speaking, it was Zygella/Bonnie that he’d told that he’d kissed a Zygon, but they had shared memories and he didn’t want to prompt Clara into interrogating him again.

The air shimmered above the deep fat fryers, and thin blue smoke rose from the charcoal braziers. They had selected nothing. The Doctor pointed at one stall, striding forward purposefully, forgetting that his stride length and Clara’s didn’t match, he paused for her to catch up.

“Pig intestine noodles!”

Clara made a face.

“No! NO! Its rice noodles, topped with whatever sauce you want. Warm, slippery, delicious – no pigs involved....honestly.”

“We’ll share.”

He narrowly avoided saying something, Clara’s version of sharing involved her eating everything and him managing to snag the occasional mouthful. He resolved to order extra. He reflected, if Clara was happy, he was happy – that gave him a moments pause, his thinking rarely resolved itself quite so simply. He looked at her happily shovelling (don’t say that out loud) food into her mouth and decided there was nothing that could give him more joy than ensuring Clara’s happiness. He wanted to make all her smiles real, make sure she was safe. His hearts thudded in his chest. Without any prompting, he kissed Clara’s cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Just because. Does there have to be a reason?”

Did he really show her he cared so rarely? How much he loved her? He resolved to do something about that too.

“Still hungry.”

She tugged on his arm and somehow positioned them so they were pressed against each other as they walked – he didn’t recoil. They both passed on the stinking tofu, despite every assurance that it tasted fabulous. The smell of rancid fermentation was enough to cause them both to recoil. The Doctor purchased multiple sui mai, pork and fish, doused liberally with chilli oil. He didn’t query whether Clara really wanted to spend another night sitting up with indigestion. He had learned not to question her craving for all things spicy. She had him stuff his pockets with roasted sweet potatoes and chestnuts, too hot to eat there and then. Clara tried to persuade him the bo lo bao didn’t involve pineapples. He watched her rip into the soft fluffy buns, golden butter melting, oozing and dripping over her fingers and running down her chin. He unconsciously swiped his thumb over her chin and licked his hand clean. They wandered for hours, captivated by the sights and smells – Clara’s had delving into his pockets to pull forth the cooled chestnuts. She added bags of lychees and guavas, complimenting him that his pockets continued to be bigger on the inside.

He allowed himself to be lost in the moment, moments, just being with Clara. He tried to remember what he’d read on the dating website. His memory was of course eidetic, except for the things he deleted...

“Use your whole body. Lean forward, make eye contact, smile, bend your knees a bit, relax your hands and arms. Make sure your breath is sweet, no onions, garlic...”

Well that was just ridiculous and when he altered her posture, Clara asked him if he was unwell.

“Make eye contact. Smile, don’t smirk. Pay attention. Lighten up. Focus on your partner, not yourself. Enjoy yourself.”

He started to sweat again, and Clara again asked him if it was something he’d eaten. He laughed. Even he thought it sounded strange. He found himself apologising. Clara took hold of his lapels, forcing him to look at her.

“Talk to me!”

He ran through the affirmations in his mind before saying anything.

“I’m a fun, interesting, worthy person. I deserve success and happiness. A date is only a date – its not do-or-die time. I’m calm and fearless. I will enjoy myself tonight and my date will too. No one will know or care what happened on this date 500 years from now (oh come on, that was patently rubbish). Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing. (Well that one he could embrace wholeheartedly.)”

He finally opened his mouth to speak and the heavens opened. The downpour was breathtaking in its intensity. The Doctor tried to shield Clara by wrapping himself around her, but the shelter they’d found was so scant, he found himself drenched in seconds. Clara pulled him under cover and he attempted to give her a sideways hug to keep her warm. He would have given her his jacket, but it would probably make her wetter and colder. He started to apologise again. Clara shushed him, she refused to allow him to feel responsible for this weather, well, this time. They were far too far from the TARDIS to make a run for it, and really, this couldn’t really be construed to be an actual emergency.

He opened his mouth to speak again, and shut it. Clara fixed him with her most implacable stare, their shelter didn’t allow her to put her hands on her hips, but he was imagining them. He was starting to resemble a gold fish, and he currently had a similar level of cognitive acuity. He couldn’t sort words into sentences. Clara’s expression softened, she placed a hand on his arm. She said “What?”, but it was gentle, not accusatory.

“Do you think....” he trailed off, shaking his head, inadvertently showering Clara in the process. She laughed, he loved her laugh, he loved her. How could it be so difficult to say something, say anything.

“ILOVEYOUWILLYOUGOONADATEWITHMEIFITSNOTINCONVENIENTANDIFYOURDON’TMIND,ANDDIDISAYILOVEYOU?”

It was very possible that Clara didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d just said.

Clara looked at him, “Daft old man!” He wasn’t sure whether to panic yet, panic was good, he could embrace panic, he was good at running. He wasn’t quite sure where he could run to, but he was good at panic and running. He eventually realised that Clara had wound her arms round his neck and had pulled him towards her and was kissing him. Stupid brain, what did he do now? Kiss her back, idiot. Yes, run! NO!!! Kiss her. He remembered this, he could do this, underneath the garlic, the chilli, was Clara. Sections of his brain decided it was probably much more helpful to simply shut down as he concentrated on responding to each and every one of Clara’s kisses. Part of his brain helpfully supplied that the symphony of quiet gasps and moans he could hear were as much his own as Clara’s. Shuttity up!

“What precisely do you think we’ve been doing all these months?”

The Doctor managed not to whimper as Clara’s kisses stopped, as her head rested against his chest, as her hands settled against his back, under his jacket, as she nestled against him to the best of her ability.

“How precisely do you think I ended up 7 months pregnant?”

Speaking without thinking, he stated, “I have no idea.”

“I am not explaining it to you again! But if you manage not to run and hide this time, I think a practical demonstration is definitely called for.”

He was too old to blush, but he still did as his brain carefully took him step by step through what Clara was saying.

“Does that mean I can give you this?” He searched frantically in the pockets of his waistcoat, he couldn’t have lost it now, no, there it was. With no ceremony whatsoever, he jammed it on her finger.

“Are you proposing?”

“What? NO! Of course not! Wait? What? Would you say yes? That’s not what the ring meant though” – once he’d started talking, he couldn’t stop, the words rushed out of his mouth in an unending stream, “its infinity and eternity, intertwined and interlinked forever, that’s what it represents. That’s what you are to me – everything.”

He took the ring comprised of interlocking bands without beginning or end, the stones a perfect TARDIS blue and showed her the inside – within each part there were two red stones and an inscription in Galifreyan. 

“What does it say?”

“You have my hearts.”

Clara was crying, no, no, that was no good at all.

“Don’t cry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t want you to cry. I’ll never mention the ring again.”

“Idiot, idiot, idiot.” And she was kissing him again and he couldn’t make any sense of what was happening.

“Put the ring back.”

He went to return it to his waistcoat pocket.

“Idiot! On my finger. I love you. I love the ring, and yes.”

He stared at her, blinking.

“Yes, you idiot, I’ll marry you.”

No part of his brain was catching up with what was happening, but he knew hew was overwhelmingly, inexpressibly happy.

The rain continued, they were both soaked as they walked back to the TARDIS with their arms wrapped round each other. Clara paused to look at the ring on her hand, over and over. He bought her as much food as she could eat and promised they really could come back every night. 

Clara smiled, and he allowed himself to be lost in that.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I adore feedback.
> 
> Hated this - tell me.
> 
> Loved this - tell me.
> 
> Really loved this - share.
> 
> Thank you


End file.
